Then the Bishop would fill up his goblet and hold it to the light.

“Aye, the best wine!” he would say. “’Thou hast kept the best wine until now.’  The water of earth—­drawn by faithful servants, acting in unquestioning obedience to the commands of the blessed Mother of our Lord—­transmuted by the word and power of the Divine Son; outpoured for others, in loving service; this is ever ‘the best wine.’”

The Knight filled his goblet and took some fruit.  Then, leaving both untouched, turned his chair sidewise, that he might the better face the Bishop, crossed his knees, leaned his right elbow on the table and his head upon his hand, pushing his fingers into his hair.

Thus, for a while, they sat in silence; the Knight’s eyes searching the Bishop’s face; the Bishop, intent upon the colour of his ruby goblet.

At length Hugh d’Argent spoke.

“I have been through deep waters, Reverend Father, since last I supped with you.”

The Bishop put down the goblet.

“So I supposed, my son.  Now tell me what you will, neither more nor less.  I will then give you what counsel I can.  On the one point concerning which you must not tell me more than I may rightly know, I will question you.  Have you contrived to see the woman you loved, and lost, and are now seeking to regain?  Tell me not how, nor when, nor where; but have you had speech with her?  Have you made clear to her the treachery which sundered you?  Have you pleaded with her to remember her early betrothal, to renounce these later vows, and to fly with you?”

The Knight looked straight into the Bishop’s keen eyes.

At first he could not bring himself to answer.

This princely figure, with his crimson robes and golden cross, so visibly represented the power and authority of the Church.

His own intrusion into the Nunnery, his attempt to win away a holy nun, suddenly appeared to him, as the most appalling sacrilege.

With awe and consternation in his own, he met the Bishop’s eyes.

At first they were merely clear and searching, and the Knight sat tongue-tied.  But presently there flicked into them a look so human, so tender, so completely understanding, that straightway the tongue of the Knight was loosed.

“My lord, I have,” he said.  “All those things have I done.  I have been in heaven, Reverend Father, and I have been in hell——­”

“Sh, my son,” murmured the Bishop.  “Methinks you have been in a place which is neither heaven nor hell; though it may, on occasion, approximate somewhat nearly to both.  How you got there, is a marvel to me; and how you escaped, without creating a scandal, an even greater wonder.  Yet I think it wise, for the present, not to know too much.  I merely required to be certain that you had actually found your lost betrothed, made her aware of your proximity, your discovery, and your desires.  I gathered that you had succeeded in so doing; for, two days ago, the Prioress herself sent to beg a private interview with me, in order to ask whether, under certain circumstances, I could approve the return of a nun to the world, and obtain absolution from her vows.”